


I Already Know My Last Words, They'll Not Be Regrets Or Advice

by NoStrings_OnMe



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Yoga, naive!Will, yoga au, yoga instructor!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25855420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoStrings_OnMe/pseuds/NoStrings_OnMe
Summary: Hannibal is a yoga instructor and Will is an unwilling yogi. What could go wrong?~~~~~~Title is from My Love by Birdtalker.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 95





	I Already Know My Last Words, They'll Not Be Regrets Or Advice

Will walked nervously into the studio, clutching his gym bag tightly with one hand. He felt woefully overdressed compared to all of the thin and toned people already gathered in the room, his hips swimming in the baggy basketball shorts and his shoulders drowning in his tattered FBI tee shirt.

He did not want to do yoga. It was certainly not his idea. But nevertheless, he found himself at _Mylimasis,_ a boutique studio in downtown Baltimore, at ass o’clock in the morning on a rare Saturday off from work. It had been Jack’s idea, pushed with Beverly’s insistence, that he do something to relax. Therapy was off the table – being an empath meant that he always knew what the psychiatrist wanted him to say, what the “right” answer was going to be, which meant that nothing productive ever happened in his sessions regardless of what was written on his evaluations – and meditation was far too boring, nearing impractical with seven dogs snuffling and clicking around in his home at all hours.

So, yoga was the last solution. This studio had been recommended by Beverly’s roommate’s girlfriend, citing clean facilities, knowledgeable staff, and essential oils massages known to be doled out during savasana. Beverly had even taken the liberty of buying Will’s first class pass, a 5-holed punch card that he swore would never be used completely. Under duress (read: two bottles of sangria on their weekly-established movie night), though, Will had promised Bev that he would use at least one class.

Will sighed heavily, making his way to the locker room as unobtrusively as possible. He stuffed his bag in one of the small lockers, taking the key (anchored with a tiny yoga mat marked with the number “24”) with him into the studio. He had borrowed Beverly’s mat, a thick green one textured for optimal grip, and tossed it out on the floor in the very back of the room, far away from the instructor’s mat and the intimidating statues and relics that adorned the small altar at the front of the room. Everything smelled vaguely like vanilla and clove, an intoxicating combination, but one that went instantly to Will’s head. He took a few quick gulps of his water bottle, setting it next to his mat. The other yogis all had stacks of props next to their mats, an array of block and blankets and what seemed to be large pillows. Some held beaded necklace-type things, wound about their folded hands like a prayer.

Committed to a philosophy of non-embarrassment, Will chose one of each prop that was stacked on the shelves against the far wall, though he had no idea what to do with any of the objects. Even the woven strap with its metal buckles seemed far too intimidating.

But Will sucked in a fortifying breath, trying to join the mindset of the yoga atmosphere with which he was entwined. He mimicked the students around him, folding the blanket at the top of his mat. He inhaled, touching his ankles together and widening his knees, letting his torso fall forward into child’s pose. It seemed simple enough, but it caught his muscles just right. He seemed to moan as his back retracted, the muscles soothing as he turned his palms upward and allowed himself to breathe into the pose. The quiet chanting music coaxed him into a heady state, his breath echoing in his head and the muscles of his arms freeing themselves to the call of the pose.

“Thank you everyone, for coming today to share your practice with me,” a soft voice prompted from the front of the room. A tall Lithuanian man sat cross-legged on his blue mat there, several uncut rocks and gemstones decorating his space. He seemed relaxed and at home in the pose, his large hands sitting effortlessly palms-up on his knees. He was shirtless, wearing a tightly black pair of biker shorts, his rock-hard abs on full display and the ends of his hair curling up with the heat of the room.

Will gulped. This was not what he had signed up for. He had expected an older woman, plump and directing her students toward an hour of gentle stretching and breathing.

He was incredibly wrong.

The instructor had them being the flow standing, which was always a bad sign, one that signified a practice full of movement and intensive reflection. Will found himself bending at odd angles, breath chugging along as he attempted to contort his body in odd positions. The instructor cued every movement slowly, moving along with his students as if his body naturally created the crazy and obtuse poses. As Will found himself upside down, bracing his weight on his forearms, his toes straining for balance as his body struggled to hold the v-shaped position of Dolphin Pose, he suddenly felt the soft pressure of a pair of hands on his low back.

“Tuck your hips,” the lowly accented voice commanded, and Will obediently pulled in his sacrum. The pose instantly softened, the weight on his elbows easing and his calves relaxing with the effort. “That’s it,” the voice crooned, the hands smoothing slowly over his spine, each vertebra lighting up with the pressure.

Will groaned with the lessening of effort in his movement, flexing his fingers against the rough surface of the mat. The voice had moved on, its gentle touch guiding the next yogi in their flow. His body ached superficially for that touch, that intensity, but he quickly brushed it aside, moving fluidly into the next pose called from the front of the room. He found himself in _mālāsana_ , his hips aching with the effort.

“Breathe into your joints,” the instructor called, his voice lilting through Will’s ears. “Let the breath guide you, easing the movement.” Will struggled to adjust to the pose, his hips popping with effort. “Let your breath be your guide,” the teacher said again, his voice soothing Will’s hurried struggles and his tightened joints. “The _prānā_ will bring you back to your body.”

Will closed his eyes, trying to follow the instructor’s words. He felt the fall of his joints into his muscles, the way that the pose became more natural rather than forced as he had felt before.

Maybe this yoga thing has more to it than he had originally thought.

“Rock back into your heels, bracing yourself on your hands if you must,” the instructor cued, demonstrating for the class. The muscles in his forearms strained as he transferred his balance into his feet, his fingers flexing with the effort. Will sucked in a fresh breath, attempting to do the same, but landing hard on his ass instead.

Several other students had done the same, though, so the instructor let loose a gentle and comforting laugh. “Balance is not required,” he assured his students. “Falling is natural. Let your body tell you what it requires. Surrender to your muscles,” he murmured, laying back against the mat.

Will rested his head down, his hips and low back unclenching at the release of pressure. “Touch your ankles together, your toes apart, and move your elbow parallel with your ribs,” his teacher instructed, and Will complied. The intense release of pressure in his back was enough to make himself stifle a groan, and the unsticking of his shoulders was divine. He breathed deep into the pose, allowing his mind to wander.

“We will end with supta vajrasana,” the instructor said quietly, turning down the lights in the already dim room. “Please relax your limbs in their natural position, allowing your neck to roll as it may. Imagine that you are sinking into the ground, letting the mat take your entire weight,” he breathed. Will inhaled fully, his chest rising slightly from the ground. With his exhale, he felt his spine meld with the mat, a sense of profound fullness fill his body. His closed eyes ceased to flit, his arms wide against the cool ground.

“I shall come around to offer an adjustment with _nag champra_ oil,” the teacher told them. “If you wish for me to respect your space, please raise your right hand now.”

Will had no idea what to do. He was not keen on the idea of a stranger massaging his body, but he was so incredibly calm in the moment, that he chose to leave his hands cemented to the ground.

“Very good,” the instructor praised, before turning up the music a touch. The throaty chants allowed Will to slip deeper into his head, feeling almost asleep in his comfortable position against the mat.

Eventually, and without surprise, the instructor came to him. He made enough noise upon his arrival so that Will was not startled, but his body did jump slightly as the instructor pressed him thumbs into Will’s temples.

“Agh,” he moaned unconsciously, the pressure relieving a tenseness that he was not previously aware of.

“Let go,” the instructor breathed, only for them to hear. He rolled his thumbs in circles thrice, the scent of the oil overwhelming Will in his fragile state. He sighed deeply, sinking somehow even deeper into the mat.

“That’s it, my dear,” the instructor breathed, running his fingers oh-so-gently across Will’s cheekbones before standing and moving to the next client. Will’s lips parted slightly, enjoying his weightlessness in the studio.

“Allow feeling to return to your extremities,” the instructor’s voice called, breaking into Will’s deep meditative state. How long had he been under? How had he managed to relax so fully in this room so full of strangers? “Permit your breath to ground your body back to this physical world.”

“Wiggle your fingers, and your toes,” the voice instructed. “Roll onto your right side when you feel read, into the fetal position.”

The fetal position. Will moved according to his instructions, feeling raw and vulnerable. “Sit up when you have regained consciousness,” the teacher said, sitting straight up on the mat, his hands pressed firmly into his knees, but his eyes closed softly.

“Let your breath flow through you, igniting your soul,” he whispered. “Feel your newborn energy move through your body, awakening each and every muscle.”

Will took a shaky breath, trying to move its power through each of his body systems. He felt his core shake, the power overtaking him, before he blinked open his eyes.

“Thank you for taking the time to practice with me this morning,” the instructor told them, his hands folded at heart center. “The light in me, sees and honors the light in you.” He bowed slightly, his eyes closed. Then, he opened his eyes and sat up, smiling widely. “I’m so glad that you all came. I hope to see you next week.” His gaze seemed to linger on Will, tucked away in the far corner, before Will shook off the feeling and began to pack up his things.

He was hanging up his strap when the instructor approached him, standing close to him, his heat transferring to Will’s back. Will stiffened subconsciously but turned to face him slowly. “Hello,” he said politely. 

“Hello,” the instructor replied, matching Will’s tone. “I have not seen you here before.”

“A friend convinced me to come,” Will admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not really familiar with…yoga,” he finished lamely.

“You appear to have a natural talent for it,” the other man said, extending his hand. Will shook, even though he was self-conscious about the sweatiness of his palms. “Hannibal Lecter,” he said, smiling slightly. “Yoga instructor.” 

“Will, Will Graham,” he replied, feeling uncharacteristically weak at the instructor’s firm grip. “Glad to meet you.”

“You know, Will,” Hannibal began, tucking his hands into the pockets on his dark purple leggings. His shoulder muscles stood out strongly against his pale tank top. “I do offer private lessons. For the uninitiated, and for those looking to perfect their practice.”

Will swallowed heavily, gripping his bag tighter. “Thank you, Hannibal,” he stumbled, shuffling against the floor. “I’m not sure that I could – ah, afford your services,” he admitted. “I’m only taking these classes on the stewardship of a friend.” He flashed his class-pass as evidence, offering a small, awkward smile.

Hannibal, however, smiled greedily, taking the proffered card from Will’s hand. “This is an elite card,” he admired, his long fingers sliding across the glossy paper. “It would count toward one-on-one sessions, as well as classes,” Hannibal explained. His deep eyes stared into Will’s, making him shift from foot to foot.

“Well, um, I’m not sure I’d be worth your time,” Will muttered. “I’m not really that flexible. And I don’t have that much experience.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal almost purred, touching Will’s bicep. The contact between the two electrified Will’s mind, then throwing him off further. “I am exceptionally skilled so as to provide for students at all levels.”

Will laughed awkwardly. “Even me?” he gestured to his body, lanky limbs and all.

Hannibal’s eyes raked over his body, taking in every millimeter of him. “Yes, Will,” he murmured. “Even you.”

Will simply stared at him, unsure of how to respond. He was sweating under the intense scrutiny, the weight of his gym bag and mat doing him no favors.

“Okay,” he agreed, not even paying attention to the words coming out his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Hannibal grinned, his sharp teeth appearing almost predatory in their exchange. “Excellent,” he agreed, slipping a soft white card into Will’s hand. “Simply message me with the details,” he instructed. “I have quite the flexible schedule.”

Will gulped, choosing to ignore the inuendo in that exchange. “Thanks, Hannibal,” he said, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

Hannibal nodded, and Will skittered out the door. When he was safely in his car, he exhaled shakily, staring at the crème colored card in his hand. Even the weight of the card, the texture of the paper, felt expensive and full of purpose and expectations.

He spent the next week purposefully ignoring the card, although it sat prominently in his wallet. Beverly, of course, inquired as to how his class had gone, and he brushed her off with classic niceties. She seemed slightly suspicious, but chose to pick her battles, and laid off for the time being.

Before Will knew it, it was Friday night. He was curled up in his bed in Wolf Trap, his dogs sleeping peacefully in the next room before the fire. The glass of whiskey, ice melting against the wood of the dresser, sat forgotten on his bedside. Emboldened by his two previous drinks, and perhaps a burning sense of loneliness, Will pulled out his phone.

_To: Hannibal_

_It’s Will. You have anything open this weekend?_

He sat up quickly after sending the message, downing the rest of his drink. The cold of the ice burned his teeth, but he ignored it. He poured another glass, fully expecting Hannibal to reply tomorrow morning, when it was far too late to schedule an appointment.

_From: Hannibal_

_I am free anytime tomorrow, Will. What time do you prefer?_

Will just about dropped his phone in startled state, sweating profusely at the idea of meeting Hannibal in just a few hours.

_To: Hannibal_

_Does tomorrow morning work for you? Sorry for the late notice_

Will added the last part as a desperate hope that Hannibal would claim a class, anything that would prevent him from scheduling a private session with Will.

_From: Hannibal_ his phone dinged a moment later, Will desperately clinging to his bed.

_Ten o’clock would be amenable to me. For you?_

_To: Hannibal_

_Works for me. Where should I meet you?_

_From: Hannibal_

_The studio would be just fine. There is a private room in the back._

Will moaned at the thought. How was he going to get through this?

_To: Hannibal_

_Works for me._

_From: Hannibal_

_Excellent_

Will took another long sip of his whiskey, pressing his face into his pillow and moaning. When he had agreed to a stress-reducing physical regime, this was not what he had in mind.

The next day, Will arrived at the studio. He dressed in a tight pair of black leggings, silver stripes running up the sides. He still wore a faded Quantico tee shirt, but he had tucked it into the waistband of his leggings. He slipped off his shoes and unrolled Beverly’s mat, sitting cross-legged until Hannibal arrived.

“Good morning,” Hannibal greeted him, his matching dark blue yoga set off-setting the crème of his Manduka mat. “Are we ready to begin?”

Will nodded, shifting slightly in his position. Hannibal mirrored him, his hands clasping his knees. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, and Will complied, despite his best interests.

“Allow your body to settle into the Earth,” Hannibal instructed, voice low and throaty. “Press your tailbone into the ground, straightening your spine against the resistance. Relax your neck and shoulders, rolling them clockwise if you must, positioning yourself against the ground.”

Will sighed, trying to follow Hannibal’s instructions. He could feel the pressure in his low back dissipate, the strictures in his neck fall away as he rolled it back and forth.

Maybe Hannibal might be on to something.

“Is there anything you wish to work on, specifically?” Hannibal asked, his eyes boring deep into Will’s soul.

“Um, I guess – um, my hips?” Will blurted out. “My hips are really tight.” His face flushed as he disclosed this fact to a man he barely knew.

“Of course,” Hannibal agreed, barely flinching. “We shall work on your hips.”

Will stifled a groan at the prospect. “Spread your legs,” Hannibal commanded, demonstrating to Will how he wished him to move. Will opened his legs, tipping his toes out as they hit the edge of the mat.

“Hmm,” Hannibal remarked, mirroring Will. Will cocked an eyebrow, but Hannibal merely shrugged. “Lean forward from your hips, keeping your back straight,” he told him “Do not worry about how close you get to your toes; simply consider the length of your back,”

Will groaned unintentionally, the muscles in his upper back de-contracting and allowing him to breathe more deeply. He sighed into the motion, leaning forward from his hips to a fold. The tension in his hips was great, but it felt freeing to release it into the mat.

“Good,” Hannibal crooned, suddenly close to him, hand pressing on his lumbar spine. “Release into it,” he urged, and Will positively moaned as he allowed his body to experience the fall.

“Hannibal,” he whispered, his cheek pressed to the ground. 

The man leaned down, nose-to-nose with Will. “Yes?” he asked, voice gentle and measured.

Will took a deep breath, the exhale reverberating through the water. “Yes,” he agreed, grasping Hannibal’s hand in his, knuckles gleaming with the sheen of his sweat.

“In and out,” Hannibal commanded. “Let your muscles surrender to the claim of the mat.”

“I’m trying,” Will gasped, his chest constricted with the weight of his body in the folded position.

“Do not try,” Hannibal corrected him, pressing hard on his cervical vertebrae. “Allow your body to do what it will. Yoga is not about ‘trying’, it is more about permitting your body to adhere to its natural state.”

“Okay,” Will breathed, a deep breath relaxing his muscles, the pose becoming more and more easy as his breath became more regulated.

“When you are ready, move to your hands and knees,” Hannibal instructed, and Will felt a pull in his belly with those words. He struggled to structure his back, his abs tensing as he attempted a strong table-top rather than a slutty-sloped back position. Not intending to embarrass himself in front of Hannibal in their first private session, after all.

“Pull from your core, lifting from your hips,” Hannibal called from the front of the room. “Flex your calves, alternating a stretch in your left and right leg. This is your first downward dog.”

Will breathed heavily in this position, his shoulders shaking as they took the weight of his body. He hoped Hannibal would not keep him here for long. 

“Step your feet to the front of the mat,” Hannibal cued, effortlessly balancing on his hands as he widened his legs to a V, lowering them silently to the mat parallel to his hands. Will settled for stepping his feet, one at a time, to the front of his second-hand mat, grunting with the effort of such a deep bend.

Hannibal moved behind him, his steps unnoticeable on the hardwood floors. He pressed his thumbs hard into Will’s hip joints, eliciting a sharp moan, but allowing his torso to fold more completely into the pose. “Allow your muscles to hold your weight in the pose,” Hannibal whispered. “Your joints are not of any importance. Your mind holds the key.”

“Hannibal,” Will seemed to beg, his thighs straining with the effort of the pose. “Please.”

Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to his lower back, startling Will enough to shake from the pose, standing up straight. Hannibal stood before him, torso strong and hands resting lightly at his sides. “Tell me, Will, do you wish to surrender?”

Will nodded imperceptibly, feeling incredibly small in his baggy clothes. Hannibal smiled slightly, eyes brightening, and he rested his hands heavily on Will’s neck. He stroked his thumbs across Will’s cheekbones. “You’re ready?” he asked, voice low. Will nodded again, and Hannibal leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips. He was gentle at first, but quickly introduced teeth, pulling at Will’s lower lip, his tongue slipping into his mouth and laving away the sting.

“Do you do this with all your private clients?” Will asked breathlessly, his hands groping Hannibal’s toned back. “Or just the inept ones?”

Hannibal chuckled softly against his lips. “Just you,” he answered, liking a stripe up Will’s neck.

“Just me,” Will echoed, pulling back to look at Hannibal’s face. His crow’s eyes were lined deep, lips turned up in a smile. His hair was disheveled from the raking of Will’s hands, and his face and chest were flushed with arousal.

“Just you,” Hannibal assured him. He swiped his thumb across Will’s lips, causing him to open his mouth. He allowed Hannibal’s fingers access, sucking hard and nipping at the soft flesh.

“Beautiful boy,” Hannibal murmured, letting Will down gently onto his yoga mat. He adjusted the knitted blanket beneath his head, tugging the basketball shorts down. He tugged lightly at Will’s cock before replacing his hand with his mouth. Will moaned loudly, echoing in the emptiness of the studio.

“Hannibal, please,” he said, words laced with desperation. He wound his hands in Hannibal’s graying silver locks, tugging to earn a loud moan against his member.

Soon, Will was close, and he warned Hannibal as much. The other man gave him a purposeful glance, sucking harder and tightening his grip on Will’s thigh, and Will almost immediately was pouring down his throat.

“Shit,” he gasped as Hannibal kneeled before him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What can I do for you?”

Hannibal shrugged lightly, adjusting himself in his skintight shorts. “I should be fine,” he admitted sheepishly. Will caught sight of the damp spot at the front of those shorts, feeling inordinately proud of himself.

“Next time?” he asked boldly, tugging his basketball shorts back into place. He reclined against the mat.

“Next time,” Hannibal promised, his voice laced with poison, as he leaned against Will’s supine body. “I will ruin you,” he claimed, running his finger down Will’s torso.

“I’m counting on it.”


End file.
